


The Case of the Mysterious Disappearing Milk

by misterioso



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misterioso/pseuds/misterioso
Summary: Nixon wakes each day finding more and more missing milk. His only suspect, Winters.





	The Case of the Mysterious Disappearing Milk

Nixon opened the refrigerator door and in bleary-eyed blindness reached for the milk. The last ingredient of many that went into making his coffee nowadays. His days of pure black coffee had gone along with his alcoholic tendencies only to be replaced with a growing sweet tooth, which was an improvement in Winters' eyes, but a curse in Nixon's. No one should drink coffee this sweet. Especially not when Winters still took his black as night.

Grasping the cool glass, he pulled out the milk.

That was when he noticed the weight, or lack thereof, and fully opened his eyes.

"What the…?"

The milk jar was half-empty. It was never half-empty. Winters never took a drink of anything except water before he would go out on his morning run. Nixon was then the only person who would open up the milk and have first taste of it every morning. 

Until this morning, apparently.

He sighed. Winters probably just changed up his pattern, which, though rare, was still a possibility. Who cared. His coffee was getting cold. 

  
  


The next morning, he woke up, less tired because he was wrangled into bed earlier than usual, and went down to make his coffee. 

He boiled the water. Mixed in the coffee. Pulled out the milk. Froze.

The milk was lighter than before, more of it clearly missing, and Nixon's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Who was drinking it? A band of blind mice? Some ghoul that apparated in the middle of the night? A masked man whose sole crime was to sneak into unsuspecting people's home to raid their kitchens and steal a few gulps of milk?

Nixon shook his head. No, it had to be Winters, hadn't it? He scratched his neck and decided it best to wait and ask. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. 

Still, Winters? It was unbelievable.

He made his coffee and slid the milk back into the refrigerator. He started breakfast--Winters had left him a note asking if he could make breakfast this time, that he'd be out running just a little longer than usual--and as he cooked up the bacon and eggs, he kept eyeing the refrigerator like it would explode if he didn't keep looking at it every two-point-four seconds.

Not too soon, Winters appeared at the door, drenched in sweat, red in the face, but with a smile that still charmed the socks off Nixon every time he saw it.

"Morning. Breakfast ready?" Winters asked, still a little breathless. A bead of sweat made its way down his temple. Nixon grinned.

"Yeah," he said. "Just about." 

"Great."

Winters shut the door behind him and took off his white shirt, using it to dry himself. Nixon glanced at his red chest only for his gaze to meander back to the refrigerator and the milk jar that sat in the cool darkness.

"Hey, Dick," Nixon said, "you been drinking the milk in the morning instead of water?"

Winters' voice came muffled from behind his shirt. "No, I haven't."

"Oh, really?"

Winters put his shirt around his neck and frowned. "Yes, really." 

"Then I guess the milk's just vanishing on its own," Nixon said as he cracked another egg. For a guy as lean as Winters, he always ate more than his fair share at breakfast. 

"Yeah, I guess." The look on Winters' face didn't change, but with nothing more forthcoming from Nixon, Winters shook his head. The matter was set aside. "Look, I'm just gonna hit the shower, Lew," he said, then left the kitchen.

Nixon looked after him, still certain that he was the one responsible for the missing milk. He'd grill him, he told himself, and demand answers when the man got back. He'd get to the bottom of this. 

And he would have, too, he lamented, if only he hadn't been so thoroughly distracted by the alluring scent of Winters' soap and the heat of his skin pressed up against his own.

  
  


The third morning, it didn't matter that his eyes were still stuck together with sleep, Nixon was wide awake when he peered into the refrigerator and looked at the milk.

To his dismay, he found that not only had it been used, but that there was so little there would be hardly a drop left for his coffee.

He shut the door and sighed against it, dramatic and exhausted. He had only wanted his morning coffee. 

He drew his hand down his face, groaning, and then glowered at the door as if Winters was there instead of out on his morning jog. 

Winters was the one behind this. Why he wouldn't just tell Nixon what he was doing with the milk remained to be seen, but it was most certainly Winters who was responsible and Nixon, tired, coffee-deprived Nixon, would get that confession out if it was the last thing he did.

It was a promise that was easier said than done, as he was reminded of the fact that Winters was not only in a better physical condition than he was--Nixon got out of the military and vowed he would not do one single jumping jack again in his life--and had a vast knowledge of wrestling that he would not hesitate to use on Nixon if the situation called for it.

Still, he had faced greater foes than Winters. German Nazis and annoying American Admiralty alike. He could do find the strength to get the man to talk. 

He made breakfast, and made his coffee--black and bitter, which suited his mood if not his palate--and waited for Winters.

Winters appeared a few minutes earlier than expected. He ran the same length as yesterday, but improved his time. He was still red and dripping. Nixon pounced.

"What are you doing with the milk, Dick?" 

Winters looked utterly confused. "What--"

"It isn't me," Nixon cut in. "I know it's not me. Unless I've been sleepwalking and drinking milk by the gallon, I know it's not me. And unless we have guests, supernatural or human, that only appear in our house to drink milk, the only suspect left is you. So, c'mon Dick, out with it. What have you been doing with the milk?"

Winters blinked at him. Nixon stared him down. Then Winters broke into a smile. 

"Gee, Lew, if I knew you'd get this upset, I probably would've just told you earlier."

Nixon blinked at him, caught off guard. Winters pulled off his shirt again and went about wiping down his sweat.

"Oh, you mean like when I had asked you yesterday?"

Winters paused and peered over at Nixon, a sheepish look on his face that made Nixon sigh. 

"And just what would you have told me yesterday?"

"Nothing. Just a little secret I've been keeping." Winters had that twinkle in his eye Nixon had associated with mischief and trouble. 

"What secret?"

Winters looked over his shoulder, out the kitchen door, to the back porch. Nixon rose in his seat, looking out the kitchen window, trying to spot what he thought Winters might be seeking, but stopped when Winters turned to look at him again.

"Don't think now's a good time."

"Why is now not a good time?" 

"I'll show you later, Lew," Winters promised. He draped his shirt over one shoulder and made his way over. He kissed the top of Nixon's head and murmured softly, "But you'll have to be up real early to find out."

With that, Winters left to shower. 

Nixon stood still, staring at nothing, the answers he got only providing more questions that demanded even more answers. 

"How early?" he shouted, turning and leaving the breakfast and the coffee and following Winters to the bathroom. "Dick, how early?"

  
  


"Dick, I can't see!"

"It's not that dark, Lew, you're fine." 

"Not dark enough? It's dark enough for me to fall and crack my head open."

"Don't worry, I'll catch you before you do."

"My hero."

They ambled down the stairs together, Winters leading the way, Nixon gripping the railing as if he hadn't stumbled up and down those stairs enough times to have them memorized down to the individual creak. 

They turned into the kitchen and Winters flipped on a light.

"Damn it, Dick, that's too bright!"

Nixon blinked, letting himself adjust to the brightness. Winters merely chuckled as he made a beeline for the cabinets where they stored some old barely-used plates.

"Get the milk," Winters ordered.

Nixon did as told. The jar was full as he passed it off to Winters.

"What exactly are we doing?"

Winters poured the milk into a large plate then handed the half-empty jar back to Nixon. He still had that smile on his face, the one that made him look more like a schoolboy than a man, and Nixon shook his head. 

"You'll see," Winters said.

Nixon put the milk back in the refrigerator. He would either crawl back into bed after this, or make his morning coffee and get on with the day, but he would decide that after Winters' big reveal. 

"C'mon." 

Winters led them onto the back porch. In the early twilight, the land was gray and the air was cold. Nixon wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered. He missed the warmth of their bed and wanted to go back and burrow in the blankets. 

"No one on God's green earth should be up this damn early," Nixon grumbled.

Winters ignored him and went on to the furthest right of the porch. He squatted down and clicked his tongue three times. 

"Who you callin'?" Nixon murmured, following after Winters and standing behind him, peering over the top of his red hair and searching for whatever animal Winters had now so plainly taken to looking after. 

After a few more calls, a series of mews answered back.

Nixon's eyes widened as he saw, peering out of the shadows between the pots of plants they had, six pairs of bright yellow eyes. Three kittens--one pure white, another in stripes of gray, and the third mostly white with black spots--approached, their tails up, their steps quick, no hesitation which indicated they had complete faith in Winters (which, in Nixon's opinion, is not uncommon for most creatures, be they man or beast). 

Still, watching the kittens sitting down, their tails tucked along their hind quarters, Nixon could only shake his head.

"This was your big secret? You were feeding kittens?"

Winters met his gaze. "It's not much of a secret anymore."

Nixon laughed. "Of course not. Though I am curious as to why you kept a secret in the first place."

Winters shrugged. "I don't know. Guess I just felt like it."

"Just felt like it, huh?"

Nixon gave him a look and Winters laughed. "You did have little faith in my ability to keep cats, after all."

Nixon stared at him for a long moment before a long-forgotten memory resurfaced. The two of them walking down darkened foreign streets and talking about maps and loss on one of the most important days in their lives. Nixon said nothing, and Winters turned back to the kittens at his feet. Nixon crouched beside him.

"So," Nixon said, watching the kittens while Winters pet them, just two fingers trailing down their spines, producing purrs and drawing a smile along Nixon's lips, "I suppose we're now the proud fathers of three kittens, huh?"

"Yeah, guess we are."

"We should probably get some more milk, then."

"Probably."

Nixon paused.

"When do you think we should start feeding them tuna, Dick?"

**Author's Note:**

> why yes, this is all based on the line where nixon tells winters he should never get a cat. was it obvious?
> 
> this is such a simple story, but the behind the scenes work involved in looking into milk delivery in late 1940s America was astounding, to say the least. and none of it ended up in the fic, which i suppose was what was how it was meant to be. i did end up learning about the buildings designed with a milk delivery doors and about the possible resurgence of locally sourced milk delivery in the 2000s, so not all was lost.
> 
> the same is to be said about kittens and milk. i had already learned about kittens (and other pets) needing specially formulated milk, but the information i found about kittens and what type of milk to give them was...impressive.


End file.
